


anticipation

by narrativefoiltrope



Series: a poem in your mouth [6]
Category: The Wayhaven Chronicles (Interactive Fiction)
Genre: F/F, First Kiss, Teasing, Tumblr Prompt, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, everything is unresolved because mack is a Fool, there is a lot of gay shit in here about women's hands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-12 16:55:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28513803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/narrativefoiltrope/pseuds/narrativefoiltrope
Summary: from a kiss prompt: height difference kisses where one person has to bend down and the other is on their tippy toes. alternatively known as mack, standing at 5'1", tries to emotionally top nat, standing at 6', and is only moderately successful (it's the not-established-relationship tension).
Relationships: Detective/Natalie "Nat" Sewell, Female Detective/Natalie "Nat" Sewell
Series: a poem in your mouth [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2009533
Comments: 2
Kudos: 14





	anticipation

The dust motes hang in the still air of the warehouse library. Suspended. Waiting. Late afternoon summer light filters in and catches them, twisting slowly, lazily, before they settle around the bookcases. 

Mack’s footsteps, sure among the now-familiar if still inconceivably organised stacks, disrupt their hesitant dance. She moves with purpose. Tired of sitting alone on the couch, she seeks Nat, who had disappeared ten minutes ago. The other woman had unexpectedly joined her in her research today.

It’s been the longest uninterrupted time they’ve had in months, possibly ever. 

Not knowing when they would next have this stretch of time alone together, Mack had been determined to make the most of it. She had been enjoying the stolen glances between them, the occasional touches. Mack even went so far as to make eye contact as she licked a finger to turn a page—which she should have known would earn her a (gentle) reprimand instead of a bitten lip from Nat (though she caught how Nat’s pupils dilated, the other woman’s eyes focused on her mouth even as she protested), but Mack wants things between them to _move along._ The promise of more has been palpable between them since Nat kissed her neck a month ago, but she always seems _just_ out of Mack’s reach: teasing, taunting, dancing around the tension between them that Nat so deliberately creates.

After failing to find Nat in the first three rows of books, Mack spots a flash of her dark hair further back in a darker corner of the library.

She slows her pace to a saunter as she approaches and takes the time to admire the way Nat touches the books. Her long fingers caress the spines, eyes study the titles there. When she can’t see the title due to antiquity or style, Nat carefully removes the book, palm smoothing down the cover; a brief pause as she weighs it in her hands before opening the book, checking its contents, then replaces it on the shelf. 

Mack leans her back against the shelf next to Nat—cautiously enough to avoid her ire but boldly enough to make it clear that Mack is no longer interested in pursuing research (at least, via books) at the moment. Tilting her head back and drinking in the sight of Nat frowning in concentration, Mack asks, “Have you found what you’re looking for yet?”

Nat shifts her attention away from the bookcase to look down at her, the nearly foot height difference between them once again highlighted. A slow, easy smile spreads over Nat’s face as she says, “Yes, I think I have.” She tucks a loose lock of hair behind Mack’s ear, caressing her jaw in the process, the brief contact sending lightning up and down the shorter woman’s spine. Nat draws her hand away—too quickly for Mack’s liking, always too quickly—and looks back at the books in front of her. “But if you’re asking whether I’ve located the volume on sirens, I have not.”

Mack quirks a brow. “Why do you have to tease me like that?” Nat flirting only to cut it short, leave her wanting, is something she has grown to expect. She still dislikes how it unbalances her, how desperately she always wants it to continue (and Mack has never been reduced to desperation—she doesn’t handle it well).

Nat chuckles softly and shakes her head. “I would never tease you, Mack. I know how much you loathe it.” Teasing even as she denies it, but it’s gentle—warm brown eyes soothe Mack’s raised hackles and stoke something akin to fire in her stomach.

“Don’t start something you can’t finish,” Mack warns, voice husky, as she steps closer.

“Ah, but I fully intend to see this through,” Nat says, promise dripping from her lips and it’s genuine. But, as with every other time they’ve been this close since Mack told her she wasn’t ready for a relationship, Nat pulls back—just slightly, not enough to offend, but cautious despite the longing clear on her face. She flicks her eyes away from Mack and back to the bookshelf.

Mack refuses to let this moment remain a possibility, so she moves: Slowly, Mack drifts towards Nat, dragging her hand along the shelves, before she settles herself directly between where Nat stands and the bookcase. She’s short enough to not obstruct Nat’s view of the higher shelves and, though Mack spots a small smile tugging at the corner of Nat’s mouth, the taller woman refuses to look at her, still scanning the spines. 

Mack presses up close against Nat. She grabs, firmly but gently, Nat’s shirt at her hips, making fists of the material on either side. Settles there for a moment before sliding lower. And Nat finally breaks: Warm brown eyes finally meet cool green, and she watches as Nat registers her intentions (and Mack has never been subtle—she certainly isn’t now).

“Do you intend to see this through sooner rather than later, Agent Sewell? Or are you going to feed me another line about the joys of anticipation?” A challenge, and she is sure that Nat knows it.

Two can tease, so Mack ghosts her fingers over Nat’s outer thighs. She traces geometric patterns there over her slacks, blunt fingernails barely making contact. Nat shivers and Mack feels a rush of pride, a triumphant smirk spreading on her face.

But she also feels…heavy, somehow. The air in the ever-shrinking space between them is weighted. Magnetic. Nat seems to have her own gravitational pull, one that Mack cannot escape: It pulls her in close, anchors her to Nat even as Mack resists. Resists not the physical attraction—she never has—but how that attraction threatens to overwhelm her, spill into a realm of emotion beyond desire. 

“I think...we may have had enough anticipation,” Nat concedes, slightly breathless.

“Oh _thank g—”_

Nat finally—finally—returns her touch, long fingers starting a burning trail at Mack’s shoulders before skipping down her arms and finally settling over her hands. The minimal contact, just Nat’s hands on Mack’s, Mack’s hands on Nat’s thighs, is enough to make Mack’s breath catch in her throat.

She tilts her face up, mouth dropping open slightly, and waits for Nat to close the space between them. Nat watches her lips, pupils blown black, and—in an achingly slow motion—leans down.

Mack is greedy, rising to meet her, arms circling the taller woman’s shoulders and drawing her head even closer. Impatient, almost frenzied, unwilling to be parted from her for a moment longer. She captures Nat’s lips with her own in a crushing kiss before running her tongue over the seam of Nat’s mouth. Nat is merciful—opens her mouth and draws Mack further in. 

Mack has never been so hungry. She clings to Nat as if the cinnamon and honey of her mouth alone can offer her sustenance, can sate her. (She thinks with a hint of panic, when she isn’t trying to stay anchored to the floor, that maybe Nat could.) 

Nat pulls her closer and gentles the kiss. If Mack began the kiss as a wildfire, Nat has turned it into smouldering embers, a different kind of intensity, and this—this is new for Mack, but she tries not to dwell on it. She can’t do much of anything except surrender to Nat’s soft lips, a small moan escaping Mack’s own.

The kiss becomes slow. Almost reverential. A distant alarm rings in the back of Mack’s head and she realises why this kiss feels different: It feels like a kiss between lovers (and Mack has never been, never had, a lover—this is a guess on her part). It’s emotional in a way that Mack hasn’t experienced—hasn’t _wanted_ to experience before.

And then, too quickly, it’s over. Nat gently draws back from the shorter woman. Her hands cradle the small of Mack’s back and she presses their foreheads together, giving Mack a moment to breathe even as she tries to chase Nat’s mouth. 

Mack is not a poet. She has no time for pretty words—unless they spill from Nat’s lips, though she’d much prefer Nat to use her mouth for other more tactile pursuits—and is uninterested in describing the sensations growing inside her. 

To describe is to assign meaning and to assign meaning is to admit that she is coming undone.

Instead of looking inwards, Mack gazes outwards. She studies Nat as Nat studies her. The long lines of her body, the delicate wave of her hair, the half-lidded look she directs at Mack: Mack can appreciate, can categorise, these attributes. Her noticing them does not necessarily mean that what exists between them goes beyond (still) unresolved tension, a tension that will evaporate as soon as their clothes (eventually) drop to the floor, their bodies drop to a bed (or against a bookcase). 

This is a comfortable lie for Mack. 

Though she doesn’t care to linger on her feelings—because they are not rational and they don’t make sense—she knows when she’s bullshitting herself. 

“Well,” Mack finally says, somewhat hoarsely, “I’d say that was enlightening.”

“I would agree,” Nat replies as she smiles and sweeps a hand over Mack’s cheek.

“I can’t believe you made us wait so long; we could’ve been doing that for months.”

Nat leans in, leans down, lips barely a breath away from Mack’s. Mack strains towards her only for Nat to press her shoulder and hold her in place, keeping them apart. “I maintain that waiting,” she begins, dipping closer to Mack’s mouth, “is half the fun.” 

Before the shorter woman can reach up and close the distance between them once more, Nat draws back, grabs a book off the top shelf, and walks away. She turns and throws a charming smile at Mack.

“I finally found the book. Shall we continue our research?”

**Author's Note:**

> this was my first time writing miss natalie and my new detective, mack! also my first time writing characters who use the same pronouns and hoo boy, all of you who do this are so strong.
> 
> come talk about twc with me on tumblr (@narrativefoiltrope).


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